Category : lyrics

It’s a shame, but it seems to me that a lot of songwriters don’t really work as hard on their lyrics as they do their music. Granted, there are exceptions, but so much of – particularly popular – music is made up of utter dreck, lyrically speaking. (Of course, a lot of the music blows, too.)

Even most of the words that are well-written are pretty lacking; they don’t really mean anything.

So I present the second in a series on songwriters that I feel deserve mention for the profundity that they display in their lyrical output. Enjoy!

BEN FOLDS

Ben Folds is considerably more well-known than my previous entry; he’s had several songs hit on the radio (“Brick” was a pretty major hit) so you’ve probably heard of him, even if you never heard of Kevin Gilbert. But perhaps in all the upbeat, rockin’ piano jammin’, you never noticed what an incredible storyteller he is? The aforementioned “Brick” is a very good example; a (fictional?) story about a couple of teenagers who go to the women’s clinic the day after Christmas is not actually a pro- or con- argument for abortion, it’s instead a powerful statement on loneliness, “status quo” relationships, and honesty, among other things. And it’s told in the context of a story so simply told – few words, but words well chosen – that one can hardly have trouble identifying with the “character” in the song.

It’s a skill that Ben has in spades. Another very good story told, from the “Ben Folds Five” album, is “Boxing.” It’s a story about a boxer who’s well past his prime, yet still boxing because it’s all he knows. It’s sung to his manager, Howard, and the most goosebump-raising line is at the tail end of each chorus:

Boxing’s been good to me HowardBut now I’m told, I’m growing oldThe whole time you knew, in a couple of years I’d be throughHas boxing been good to you?

Damn, that gives me chills just typing it.

Then there’s the amazing “Fred Jones Part II” from “Rocking the Suburbs”:

Fred sits alone at his desk in the darkThere’s an awkward young shadow that waits in the hallHe’s cleared all his things and he’s put them in boxesThings that remind him: ‘Life has been good’Twenty-five yearsHe’s worked at the paperA man’s here to take him downstairsAnd I’m sorry, Mr. JonesIt’s timeThere was no party, there were no songs‘Cause today’s just a day like the day that he startedNo one is left here that knows his first nameAnd life barrels on like a runaway trainWhere the passengers changeThey don’t change anythingYou get off; someone else can get onAnd I’m sorry, Mr. JonesIt’s time

An incredible story, told incredibly simply. You relate, you understand – it’s an amazing skill, and one that I hope to develop in my own songwriting.

To steal Kevin Gilbert’s phrase: To be simple, yet profound.

I’ll close with lyrics from “The Luckiest” – an amazing (perhaps a little sappy) song that my wife and I made “our song” at our wedding and for always. It has the amazing distinction of this great moment: When we played it for my Mom (who we lost in April) the first words out of her mouth after she heard it for the first time were, “You know you have to play that at your wedding, right?” (This was before we were even engaged.) Amazing song, amazing lyrics: Note – I typed from memory, prose-style, so the line spacing may not be as Ben Folds originally wrote ’em.)

The Luckiest (from “Rockin’ the Suburbs”)

I don’t get many things right the first timeIn fact, I am told that a lot.Now I know: all the wrong turns and stumbles and fallsBrought me here.And where was I before the dayThat I first saw your lovely face?Now I see it every day.And I know that I am the luckiest.

What if I’d been born fifty years before youIn a house on a street where you lived?Maybe I’d be outside as you passed on your bike…Would I know?And in a white sea of eyes, I’d see one pairThat I recognizeAnd I know that I am the luckiest.

I love you more than I can ever find a way to say to you.

Next door there’s an old manWho lived to his ninetiesAnd one day, passed away in his sleepAnd his wife, she stayed forA couple of days and passed awayI’m sorry, I know that’s a strange way to tell youThat I know we belong…And I know, that I am the luckiest

It’s a shame, but it seems to me that a lot of songwriters don’t really work as hard on their lyrics as they do their music. Granted, there are exceptions, but so much of – particularly popular – music is made up of utter dreck, lyrically speaking. (Of course, a lot of the music blows, too.)

Even most of the words that are well-written are pretty lacking; they don’t really mean anything.

So I present the first in a series on songwriters that I feel deserve mention for the profundity that they display in their lyrical output. Enjoy!

KEVIN GILBERT

Here’s a guy who was troubled, for sure. And like many troubled, somewhat misunderstood artists, he was taken from us far too soon. But most of what he left behind was so deep, so powerful… his influence on me, my songwriting, my lyrics – it simply cannot be overstated. He is, for all intents and purposes, my musical hero. His music was original, yet hooky. His engineering and production skills were legendary among his peers. But I’m especially drawn to what he said.

His lyrics could be pensive, powerful, snarky, optomistic, intellectual, sarcastic, honest, simple, and profound – often all in the same song. There is so much to be read between the often simple lines of prose; you can tell he was well-read. He was a master of allusion, wordplay and clever puns.

Here, a few of my favorite stanzas.

from Goodness Gracious (from “Thud”)

Goodness Gracious my generation’s lostThey burned down all our bridgesbefore we had a chance to crossIs it the winter of our discontent or just an early frost?

Goodness Gracious of apathy I singThe baby boomers had it all and wasted everythingNow recess is almost overand they won’t get off the swing

Goodness Gracious we came in at the endNo sex that isn’t dangerous, no money left to spendWe’re the cleanup crew for partieswe were too young to attendGoodness Gracious me.

from Waiting (from “Thud”)

I’m waiting in the shadows with a chain around my wristI’m waiting with my best friend held firmly in my fistI’m waiting for my heroes to tell me what to dreamI’m waiting for my neighbors to tell me what’s obsceneI’m waiting for the apple, I’m waiting for the fallI’m waiting for a renaissance to electrify us all

from City Of The Sun (from “The Shaming of the True”)

The attendant at the Texaco saw the guitar case in my back seat and decided to impart his tragic tale He said: “I used to play in a band like you, we even made a record too”and sang a bar that hardly rang a bell Now I’m not one to make a lot of omens and premonitions and fleeting thoughts but I must admit that I tried to avoid his stare‘Cause I didn’t want to see him see himself in mewith the look of an extinguished flame that might be lurking there

Kevin Gilbert was a multi-instrumentalist and songwriter, singer and audio engineer/producer. He was one of the founding members of the “Tuesday Music Club” which was the foundation for Sheryl Crow’s breakout record “Tuesday Night Music Club” which won accolades and awards (though Kevin saw little positive effect of Sheryl’s ascent to fame). He also worked with Madonna, Michael Jackson, Keith Emerson, Spock’s Beard, Jonatha Brooke, and many others. His solo release “Thud” is an amazing album even today (having been released over a decade ago) and his posthumously released rock opera “The Shaming of the True” is an under-recognized masterpiece. I urge you to check out his work. Now.